


Easy

by MathConcepts



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: And they don't like it, Booker and Quynh having to slum it out among a bunch of rich people, Booker and Quynh still have issues that they need to ADDRESS, Brief mention of suit kink, Copley is steadily becoming number to everyone's bullshit, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Other, Post Movie, Quynh being a little shit, Quynh is currently on hiatus from vengance, Undercover Missions, brief and underutilized fake marriage for a mission trope, the Booker & Quynh friendship we all deserve, the background angst that is ever present with Booker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25925104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathConcepts/pseuds/MathConcepts
Summary: Coming from Copley's mouth, it seems like the easiest thing in the world. For him and Quynh to dress up as a rich married couple and infiltrate a fancy dinner party to collect dirt on the host? Not his usual forte, but something that should be doable and boring.It's never doable and boring.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/James Copley, James Copley & Quynh | Noriko
Comments: 12
Kudos: 165





	Easy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at it again with another fic that caters to my niche tastes.

  
  
  
  
  
Coming from Copley's mouth, it seems like the easiest thing in the world. For him and Quynh to dress up as a rich married couple and infiltrate a fancy dinner party to collect dirt on the host? Not his usual forte, but something that should be doable and boring. 

"So, let me get this straight," he had said, sitting around a table in an overpriced cafe, his and Copley's knees brushing, holding a coffee that's more espresso than brew, "You want me to pretend to be some rich asshole, attend this fucking party - all on the chance the guy _might_ say something we can pin on him?"   
  
"Quynh will also be attending, as your wife." Copley says, as if Booker needs reminding. Quynh, from the other side of the table, a chai tea latte in hand, gives Copley an amicable smile. 

"His racially ambiguous trophy wife," she corrects, because they are really going for the rich asshole angle here. Makes it easier to blend in. Copley nods primly, sips his fucking atrocity of a decaf coffee like the little shit he's revealing himself to be, and has the nerve to smile at Booker.   
  
"Don't worry, it'll be an easy job."   
  
Well. Booker has lived long enough to know that is complete _bullshit._ He keeps his mouth shut though, because he's currently one against two, and he's not going to get into an argument with Quynh, not when he's just starting to value his life again.  
  
He flips Copley off - who chuckles - and slurps the caramel drizzled whipped cream off the top of his frappe, being as obnoxious as possible in doing so. They both ignore it.   
  
"Luckily, you have three days until the party. That should give you some time." 

"...Time?"   
  
"Yes, you'll need to look the part."   
  
Oh, _fuck no._

  
He's dragged through hell and back for the next couple of days, and if anyone wanted to know, hell looks awfully like every high end clothing store on this side of Europe. Quynh is taking this assignment very seriously, at least the part that requires them to be dressed to the nines. She's a hopeless slave to fashion, she crawled out of the ocean only to fall into the pockets of every designer currently on the market.   
  
He doesn't judge her for it, never thinks anything like _shallow_ or _vain_ when she begins chasing after a new trend _._ He wouldn't dare. Everyone copes differently. He, he _drank_ , and almost nearly fucked everyone over _._ Andy blocked it all out, Joe and Nicky just lost themselves in each other - and that was half the problem, wasn't it? Watching them. - Quynh shops. And if his apartment currently looks more like the backstage of the Milan Fashion week than something habitable - not that it ever was _habitable_ , but that's neither here nor there - it's a small price to pay.  
  
"How does this look, Booker?" Quynh comes out from the curtained-off portion of shop #54 in the dress of the minute. He's about to mutter _fine, fine_ , because he doesn't see how it could be any better or worse than the other three dozen dresses she has tried on that day, but then he makes the mistake of actually looking up at her.

She's neck to toe in watered red silk, delicate beading shimmering on the halter collar of the dress. Simple, elegant, and fiery. It's exactly Quynh. Of course, he's rather literally kill himself before offering any positive comment, so he only growls, "I like that one, take it and lets go."   
  
Her answering smirk shows that she sees right through him.  
  
The fussy clerk wraps up the purchase in tissue and a box and a gold-monogrammed bag, and Booker is naive enough to think his troubles have stopped there. He's quickly and roughly thrust back into reality when Quynh drags him into a menswear shop, beginning the vicious cycle anew.   
  
She calls him silly, a baby, when he balks, along with other various things in languages he's never heard before, and bullies him through the hands of tailors, into one suit and another. No one will be getting near his inseam for the next fifty years after this. Except Copley, naturally.   
  
They, or _she_ , because there is no _they_ in this, finally settle on a suit that's the progeny of a designer who's name Booker can't pronounce - and he's _French_ \- and that costs way more than Booker knows he will ever be able to be comfortable with. Not that money is an object, it's just...just... _well_.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Copley comes by to see them off on the night of the party, and ends up pulling Booker into the bathroom to run a hand over his lapels and put another hand down the front of his pants, so Booker is forced to reconsider his former strong stance on the suit. Quynh, evil harpy that she is, waits until Copley has found his rhythm to interrupt them, and forces Booker to hobble out to their rented car half-hard, with the addendum that if he ruins his pants she'll make him _pay_. Remind him again why and how Andy put up with this woman?  
  
Thinking of Andy squashes his libido quite effectively, so by the time his tiny team of two has reached the dropoff point (the opulent hall where the party is being hosted) his pants are flat and he's making last-minute adjustments to the holster under his suit jacket. Quynh, as she's wearing a dress, has a gun on one thigh and knife on the other, and is wearing a bracelet of silver links that can be used to garrotte somebody in a pinch.   
  
Nice. He appreciates her aesthetic, even if he himself has only bothered to bring a gun and nothing more. If he needs anything else, he'll get it along the way.

They take their places for the evening, Quynh, bright, glittering, her hair piled atop her head, in short, stunning, on his arm, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the occupants of the room. He, in his expensive suit and slicked back hair, trying to feel at ease among the shallow laughter and tinkling of glasses.   
  
Luckily, the mission calls for them to only be passive observers, so they are able to fade into the background early on, and are not called upon to provide their credentials; how many houses and what companies they own, and if what brats they do have are going to what schools, and how do they like the wine and caviar, and how many people are going hungry to finance all this to begin with -  
  
"Selfish pieces of _shit_ ," Quynh mutters to herself in passing, and Booker stumbles, remembering Joe's voice, screaming much the same thing at him. Things become rapidly less tolerable after that. Every other person seems to wear Merrick's face, everyone that brushes a bit too close are armed guards on the defensive, and Booker is relieved when the target takes a noted interest in Quynh, if only because that means they can get this _fucking thing_ over with already.   
  
Quynh goes off with the man, smiling thinly, fingers curling in a way the idiot doesn't seem to notice - and comes back sometime later with blood dotted on her knuckles and her fucking _teeth_ , and whatever she did Copley is _not_ going to be happy about it in the morning.  
  
Well, Booker has managed to get a few drinks in while Quynh was occupied, and couldn't give less of a shit. He'll make it up to him, somehow. Maybe wear the suit for him. "Lets go now, yes?" Quynh says, dabbing at her lips with a napkin, the blood seeming to be an extension of her red, red lipstick. There's no blood on her dress though. Not a drop.  
  
He smiles, offers her his arm, ever the chivalrous husband, even to a pretend wife, and they leave the place together.  
  
  
  
  
So, the execution of the plan was much less boring, considering that Quynh broke the jaw of an affluent businessman, and bit a good portion of his face off when he tried to molest her, but Copley was right, it was easy. Fairly easy. Not easy enough to make up for the three days of shopping Quynh had subjected him too, but even with that; it's three days that Quynh was focused on something other than what could easily make his world come crashing down if she turned her sights back on it, and three days of sobriety for him. He supposes that does makes up for it then. He's not going to press the reprieve that's been granted to him.  
  
Copley is going to yell at them tomorrow, Quynh is going to grin and dare him to _tell her anything about it_ , and Booker is going to sit there and enjoy it, enjoy the tiny space in the world he's fallen into against all odds.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
